


got the bruise of the year

by pinkmaggit



Category: Metallica
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Bloody Kisses, Bruises, F/F, I guess ????, Lesbian Sex, Tender Sex, do i hate my rival or do i wanna fuck her?, gross roller rinks, intricate lesbian rituals, lars suffers ie. too-thin apartment walls, lazy summers, reciting poetry to get into your girlfriends pants, rollerskating lesbians cause why not, romantic rollerskating on venice beach, tits, u know. the works, various shades of butch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkmaggit/pseuds/pinkmaggit
Summary: There's the roar of the crowd.The whistle blows once, twice.And they're gone.
Relationships: James Hetfield/Jason Newsted
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	got the bruise of the year

**Author's Note:**

> okay,,, here's a circa '97 lesbian roller derby au where they're all dumb twenty-ish year olds because why not.
> 
> also thank u inkk for opening my eyes to f/f tallica,,,, i owe u my life
> 
> basic roller derby rules [here](https://rules.wftda.com/summary.html) (but they're all gross skate rats so rules r mostly disregarded except for the basics cause im in charge)
> 
> short little late 90s playlist:  
> > galapagos - smashing pumpkins  
> > dai the flu - deftones  
> > sweet shine - sonic youth  
> > good grief - foo fighters  
> > range life - pavement  
> > mascara - deftones
> 
> anyways enjoy ??

James takes a deep breath, pulling the laces of her skates taut, ignoring the sting of the blisters against her palms.

She straps her helmet on, adjusts her elbow guards. 

Lars is right beside her, fiddling with her red jersey: she knocks her shoulder against James’, nodding her head in the direction of where they’re supposed to get lined up.

There’s the squirm of nerves in her gut, heavy and nauseating as James follows Lars around the rink.

Roller derby is fairly new: she’s only been competing for around six months. Lars had been the one to talk her into it, convincing her that she’d be perfect for their team, and it _was_ true. James knew she fit in well, and skating was definitely great stress relief.

There was also something to be said for the rush in her nerves when she was embroiled in the batter of elbows and the shove of bodies. But there'd been a huge learning curve to it, and she'd limped home more nights than not with bruises and huge scrapes all over her body.

And that’s another thing: there’s no rules, out here. _Anything_ goes, and beating the shit out of your opponent is part of the game. As Cliff likes to say, it’s not winning if you’re not bleeding.

Their roller rink is a relic of the late seventies, abandoned and left to fall into disrepair, surrounded by decrepit warehouses on the city’s industrial side. It’s grody as hell, and almost all of the stands are broken in places, but it’s the only place they’ve got. And like, technically, what they’re doing isn’t illegal, per say. 

It’s just not, like, 100% _legal_ , either.

And normally, that electrifies her, makes her blood absolutely _sing_.

But now? She’s starting to have some regrets, ‘cause the team they’re skating against is fucking _brutal_.

The stands are packed with teenagers and college kids, drinking and smoking and cheering as the teams get ready for the night, smoke heavy in the air. 

Somehow, somebody managed to fix the overhead speakers, probably by some miracle of god, and _Dai the Flu_ blares as James and Lars skate over to the rest of their team.

Cliff’s there, and Lars immediately slides in beside her, discussing their plans for the night. James lets her attention wander, scanning over the other team, gritting her teeth.

The blue team’s stretching out, laughing and joking.

James scowls.

They got their asses kicked two weeks ago: the whole team’s crazy fucking fast, strong and vicious. There’s the tall redhead, Dave, talking with Jason and Kirk, the jammers, who both skate like fucking bullets and are notoriously difficult to catch.

They’re also not afraid to get rowdy: James has lost track of the amount of times she’s gotten battered by the two of them, and it pisses her off to no end.

 _Especially_ Jason: the fucker nearly broke James’ nose last time, and now she’s looking for payback. 

Jason catches her eyes across the rink, stare cold.

_Fuck her._

───

James readjusts her knee-guards, spitting on the ground.

 _Shit_ , her tooth feels wiggly.

They’re halfway through, down ten points. She’s also bleeding from a new cut in her leg where Jason had sliced her with the trucks of her skates.

What a fucking _asshole_.

 _Yeah, a hot asshole you wanna fuck_ , her mind supplies, which, _shit_ , is beside the point. James is gonna kill her.

Lars tosses her a rag to wipe up the blood with. 

“Okay,” Cliff groans, “So we’re down ‘cause James got pushed by their fucking jammer.”

James huffs, “Look, dude, she cut my fuckin’ leg open. What else was I supposed to do?”.

Cliff fixes her with a stare that screams _you're full of shit_. “Were you still on your feet?” she deadpans.

“Well, yeah-” James balks, playing with the hem of her jersey.

Shaking her head, Cliff snorts, “Then you should’ve taken her to the fucking ground, dumbass.”

Lars cackles as James blushes.

“Whatever, man,” she spits, “It's fine. We’ll catch up.”

Cliff waves her off, directing the rest of their teammates on the plan for the next round, James slapping the star onto her helmet.

James skates into place, watching as Jason gets into position behind the line, gingerly keeping her hand by her side. Her finger’s broken, swollen and purpled over. James would know, ‘cause she’s the one who broke it.

“How’s the finger, baby?” She teases, restrapping her knee pads.

Jason snorts. “‘M not your fucking baby,” she spits, eyes steely, “I’m older than you, asshole.

“Ooh, feisty. Somebody sad they lost their jerking-off hand?” James snickers, watching out of the corner of her eye as Jason wipes the sweat off her forehead, leaning onto her front foot. 

James shamelessly stares at her ass through her shorts.

“I’m right-handed, shitfuck,” Jason retorts, “And piss off, else I’ll break your nose for real this time.”

James just laughs, grinding her skate into the rink, slipping in her mouth guard.

“Bet that would get you off, baby.”

The whistle blows.

Jason's gone, a blur of blue in the corner of her eye. 

James grins, and tears right after her. 

───

They're still behind, but gaining steadily, fighting their way up.

Lars is vicious, clawing at the defenders, shouting “Go, go, fuck!” James grabs Cliff’s arm and Cliff whips her, sending her fucking flying down the rink.

The announcer shouts from his perch in the middle. “ _Alright, and red’s got their jammer down the rink, but blue’s right on their tail!”_

James looks back: Jason’s clawed through, Dave whipping her forwards, her skates a blur as she gains on James, shoving into her, the two of them grappling, and then-

“Fuck!”

There's a sickening crack, and suddenly Jason’s on the ground, James knocked on her ass beside her. 

Jason clambers to her knees, clutching her hand to her side. Her nose is bleeding, hot red blood streaming down her lips and chin, and her eyes are _livid._

Shit.

And just as James realizes that she's gonna get her ass kicked, steeling herself for the blow, there's the ear-piercing wail of sirens.

Her stomach drops. Everyone goes dead silent.

“IT’S THE FUCKING PIGS!” Someone shouts, and then the arena descends into _mayhem_.

There's people fleeing out the doors, screaming and yelling, the press of bodies as everyone scatters like rats. James can't see Lars or Cliff anymore, can't find them in the panic.

Oh, fuck. Oh _fuck fuck fuck_. She can't go to jail. She can't, she _can't_ , and she doesn’t even know what to do, and Lars and Cliff aren't even here anymore and-

“Fuck, hurry!” James snaps out of her haze: Jason's grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her up and to the doors along the back of the rink.

James pales, “Jesus, why are we going this way?” 

Jason tugs harder. “You wanna get caught at the front?” She snaps, shoving her way through the rotted-out doors, the two of them throwing themselves down the stairs and out the back of the rink into the pitch-black night. 

“C’mon!” Jason hisses, pulling James towards an old warehouse, leaning precariously on one side. 

James swallows, “Shit, isn't this dangerous?”

“It's better than getting caught by the fuckin’ pigs,” Jason whispers, and James lets herself be dragged in, disappearing through a hole in the rusted-out doors.

James takes a moment to catch her breath. Distantly, she can hear people shouting and the faint scream of sirens, bright lights flashing against the buildings nearby, and she swallows, hoping that Lars and Cliff made it out.

It's _weird_. Jason had no reason to grab her when the cops showed up: she risked getting caught just to drag James along, even though James broke her finger and gave her a bloody nose. 

Even still, Jason took her along. James doesn't want to think about what that means.

Jason peers out a hole in the metal siding, trying to see where all the cops are congregated.

“How’d you know the doors led out here?” James asks.

“Shut up,” Jason whispers.

James frowns. “Seriously, dude, how'd you know?”

There’s the squeak of wheels as Jason turns around, throwing her a glare. “‘Cause this isn’t the first time the cops have shown up to bust our party. Move.”

Jason directs her away from the doors. It's quiet in the warehouse, only the splash of scummy water under their feet. The two of them slouch down against one of the walls, legs stretched out across the concrete. Jason sniffs, wiping at her nose which has slowed to a trickle, thick and dark.

James feels a fucked-up sense of pity: here's a girl who's sent her to the goddamn _hospital_ , before, and James feels bad that her nose is bleeding. 

Jesus.

“Here, use this,” James murmurs, tearing a strip off of her ruined shirt, passing it over to Jason who takes it with a muffled _thanks,_ balling it up and pinching her nose. 

James rubs a hand over her cheek, sore and swollen. It's likely gonna be all bruised-up tomorrow, and she sighs, trying to remember if she has any ice at home or even frozen peas.

The sirens wail. 

“Shit,” Jason hisses, gently cradling her hand to his stomach. Her nail’s bruised, blood welling up beside it, the skin all purple and blue, finger bent at an angle.

James takes her shirt off, ripping it into shreds. “Here, gimme your hand.” 

Jason stares at her, eyes cloudy with pain. 

“I’m just gonna wrap it, okay?” And James gingerly takes her hand, wrapping the finger to the others, a makeshift splint until Jason can get it set properly. 

It's silent, Jason flinching each time James pulls too hard. “Sorry,” she mumbles, feeling clumsy and suddenly unsure in her own skin, trying to focus on winding the cloth strips around Jason's hand. It almost looks small, cradled in between James’. 

There’s something _tender_ about it, the way James is careful to press the strips along Jason’s fingers, the slight well of blood, bright red against the creamy fabric. She’s hit by the sudden urge to _kiss_ , to smooth her lips over the fucked-up skin, once she’s finished.

James drops Jason’s hand as if burned.

“Thanks,” Jason murmurs, slouching into James' side, the fight slipping out of her and leaving her drained where she slumps down. 

James just nods her head, trying not to focus on Jason's warm side pressed against hers. “‘Course. It was my fault, anyways.” Jason just hums. James wiggles her foot, trying to distract herself. She’s simultaneously trying _not_ to think about her feelings for Jason, or worrying about Cliff and Lars, and failing at both.

“They're gonna be fine.”

James jerks out of her thoughts: Jason's trying to adjust her skates, pointedly not looking at her. “Your teammates, I mean.”

She swallows. “Yeah,” James murmurs, “Yeah, okay.” 

Jason's using her one hand, trying to undo the tight knots in the laces, picking fruitlessly.

“Here,” James says, scooting up so she can grab Jason's skate, “Let me.” 

Jason frowns. “I got it, dude.”

“With a broken finger?” James says incredulously. “Don't be fuckin’ stubborn.”

Untying the knot and unlacing the boot, Jason wiggles off her skate, moving her other foot over so James can take the second skate off. She sets the pair to the side, unlacing and sliding her own skates off, blue and red leaned against each other.

Jason sighs, “You know, you're pretty fuckin’ sweet, off the rink. I don't even know how we first got into it.”

 _Cause you kicked my ass the first time,_ James thinks, but bites her tongue. It's standard in roller derby, anyways. Definitely not grounds for a rivalry. 

_Maybe it's cause I think you're hot_ is her second thought, but she's definitely not confronting that.

“I dunno. I mean, you're cool, and all. Sorry, about the rivalry. It's stupid,” James murmurs. She desperately wishes she had a smoke.

Jason smiles, just gently. “Yeah, me too, man. We good?” 

James just nods, tongue twisted in her mouth. 

The lights are still there, flashing bright red and blue in the dark against the surrounding buildings. Jason sighs, leaning further into James. It strikes her, suddenly, how nice it is, almost. That if they were in a different place, at a different time, not covered in blood and bruises and cuts, it might even be like a _date._

James feels her gut flutter.

Her head hurts. Mostly from a nasty spill she took on the rink, but also from the loud arena and the Stolichnaya she chugged before the match and because she's tired as fuck. She sighs, letting the quiet wash over her. James kinda wishes she was at home in bed right about now.

Jason swallows, and then breaks the silence.

“You know I think you're hot, right?”

James feels her brain short-circuit.

“ _What_?” she squeaks, turning to Jason who's blushing, slightly, her curly hair slipping out of her ponytail under the helmet and framing her face. 

Jason shrugs, bashful. “Yeah, I mean, like, you're-”

“Are you fuckin’ drunk?!”

James blinks dumbly as Jason flinches slightly. “A litte, duh,” Jason starts, and then James interjects.

“ _You're_ hot. Like, hot as fuck.”

So maybe she _is_ confronting her feelings. Huh.

Jason goes bright red. “What, really? Dude, I thought you hated me.”

“Like,” James stutters, feeling herself flush “The only reason I hated you was cause you’re hot. Like, you're super fucking talented and your legs are, like. Wow. Duh.”

Jason blinks, tongue sliding across her bottom lip.

“Do you- shit, the last time you skated in your bra? Fuck, seeing your abs made me, like, _so_ fucking hot, I thought I was gonna die,” Jason murmurs, eyes trained on James’ bottom lip.

Jesus Christ, that's super hot. So James dives in, leftover adrenaline combining with the slight buzz she's been kindling all night compelling her to do something maybe-stupid-100%-right.

Jason gasps against her lips, one hand coming up to wrap around James’s shoulders as James grabs at her sides, pushing her up against the concrete. 

Fuck, it's so good. Jason's hand scrunches in her jersey, pulling her in close, letting the kiss turn sloppy, wetter, _deeper._ They tangle together, the hot press of their bodies as they kiss, slick and slow. Jason tastes like blood, tangy and sharp across James’ tongue, and like, she never thought she'd have a thing for _blood_ , but from Jason's lips? God, it's the best thing. 

James’ lip splits anew, and Jason’s breath hitches, tongue sliding across the cut, and James feels herself _burn_ from the inside-out.

There's a piercing scream from the sirens, the rumble of engines as the cops pull away.

They pull apart, chests heaving for breath, flushed twin shades of pink.

It goes silent. 

Then Jason laughs, smile huge, and James grins, pulling her in.

───

James collapses onto her bed once she gets home, running her finger over a bruise on her hip, slowly, savouring the slight sting.

Her lips still feel tingly. When she closes her eyes, she can see Jason, leaning in to kiss her, on constant replay in her mind. 

James looks at her shitty little flip phone on her dresser: Jason put her number in, after the cops left, after they snuck back into the rink and grabbed their stuff. 

There's a quiet little buzz. James grabs her phone, flips it open, the tiny screen dim. There's one new text.

**From: 415~635~0991 - 3:34 am**

_ <3 _

───

It's a little unconventional, the way they get together. But it's not like either of them are that conventional anyways.

Like, it's kinda fucking wild. They’ve sent each other to the hospital, before. Jason snapped two of James’ fingers: James has given Jason concussions. They've beaten the absolute _shit_ out of each other.

And yet, they fit together _so fucking well_.

James goes over to Jason's apartment, the two of them sprawled together across the couch, _Scream_ playing in the background with the volume off as they make out. Kirk walks in on them and her eyebrows shoot up into her curly bangs, but she doesn’t say anything and quietly disappears into her room, leaving them to their own devices.

And like, they go on dates, but since they’re both broke twenty-year-olds they mostly hang out at the shitty all-night diner, drinking milkshakes and lacing their ankles together in one of the back booths.

“So, like, dude, I know you’re biased, but c’mon. Reservoir Dogs is way better than Pulp Fiction,” Jason laughs, dragging a french fry through a puddle of ketchup before popping it in her mouth.

James snorts, “No way, man. Like, okay, Reservoir Dogs had a cool plot, but it was all talking. Fuckin’ _boring_. At least in Pulp Fiction Bruce Willis gets hit by a car.” She steals a fry, kicking her foot against Jason’s, gently.

Jason giggles, taking a sip from her shake, strawberry flavour.

“Yeah, but Reservoir Dogs? Tim Roth and Harvey Keitel? Fuckin’ sweet, man.”

James laughs, “What, so you're saying they're better than John Travolta and Uma Thurman?”

Jason shakes her head. “Nah, they’re like, completely different. You can’t compare them, man.”

Taking a sip of her milkshake, James pauses, “Okay, but like, if you had to choose one, which would you pick?”

“Mmm,” Jason frowns, biting down on a fry, “Thurman. I wanted to take Travolta’s place.”

James snickers, “Really?”

“Yeah, man, Uma Thurman’s always been hot,” Jason giggles, “C’mon, you’ve definitely had some celebrity crushes.”

James hums. “Well, like,” she murmurs, rubbing the back of her neck bashfully, “Sure, I guess.” 

Jason takes a sip from her drink, smirk huge, “Fine, I’ll go first,” she laughs, counting on her fingers as she talks, “Fairuza Balk in the Craft? _Damn_. And Drew Barrymore and Winona Ryder?”

James laughs, taking a fry. “Got a thing for goths, baby?” she teases, biting down on the slightly-cold french fry.

Jason rolls her eyes, “I guess. But like, you totally do too, you thought it was hot when Nancy killed Chris.”

James snickers, reaching under the table to grab Jason's hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“I dunno,” James whispers, leaning in, “Like, goth girls are pretty fucking hot. But I kinda like sporty girls too, especially when they’re all covered in sweat and blood. It's fucking sexy.”

Jason goes bright red. “Shut up,” she mumbles, but she's smiling as he says it, and she squeezes James’ hand under the table, so James knows she secretly likes it.

───

Cliff had cornered her before their rematch.

“If you go easy on her just ‘cause you’re fucking, I’m gonna kick your ass, Hetfield,” she’d griped, after finishing discussing the plans for the night with their teammates.

James just nods. She's got no intentions of wimping out.

Off the rink, they're soft with each other, tender and gentle.

But on the rink?

There's no hesitance as they bruise, and shove, and hit. Bloody noses and sprained ankles and broken fingers are all part of the game, and there's a secret _pleasure_ , almost, to it.

It's like fucked-up foreplay.

Cause then, when they go home? God, James has never had better sex in her _life_. 

Nothing can compare to the sweet, hot slide of blood and lube and cum, a fucked-up Rorschach across the bed sheets once they're finished.

Jason catches her eye across the starting lines and licks over her newly-healed split lip.

There's a silent challenge there. _You gonna make me bleed?_

Fuck yeah.

───

They hang out in James’ apartment, smoking weed on the carpeted floor, watching some shitty made for tv movie.

They've got Lou Reed on the CD player: some singer Kirk’s into, according to Jason. At this point, it doesn't even matter, because James is so high she can hardly focus on the words. 

“Fuck, dude-” Jason murmurs, leaning into her, taking a long drag off the joint, cherry crackling. “This movie is shit.”

James laughs, letting Jason sag forwards so her head collapses into James’ lap. “Mmm, I thought- didn't we go to Blockbuster?” 

“Nah, we returned the tape- fuck, two days ago?” Jason coughs, the smoke drifting out between her lips, thick and slow.

James takes the joint from between Jason's slack fingers, taking a final hit before stubbing it out in the Garfield ashtray from the thrift store.

“Hey, man, what the fuck,” Jason gripes, tucking her face into James’ belly, “I was- I was smoking that.”

“Mmm, sorry,” James murmurs, but she isn't, not really, ‘cause she loves when Jason gets all soft in her hands when they smoke and she can take advantage of it.

So she's an opportunist. Sue her.

She lets her fingers trail through Jason's hair, just gently, loving the way Jason hums and leans further in, pressing a kiss to her stomach through the ratty fabric of her tank top.

James scrapes her nails along Jason's scalp, and Jason shivers. 

_You made me forget myself,_

_I thought I was someone else, someone good_

Jason's shirt rides up, just slightly, as she pushes herself into James’ hand. The frayed hem slides over a sharp hip, a thin strip of pale skin revealed between her too-small Placebo tee and her torn up jeans. 

It's _magnetic_ : James can't look away. There's the slight dip of her navel, the thin band of her briefs, the soft trail of hair disappearing under the loose waistband of her jeans. 

She lets a finger smooth across the skin. Jason twitches at the contact, humming sleepily. 

James pushes her shirt up higher. Jason's hip is soft under her fingers, skin smooth, the bone solid as she presses down, following the natural dip towards Jason’s stomach. Jason jerks, a little, huffing out a laugh as James trails gentle fingers right under her navel.

“Tickles,” Jason murmurs, voice gravelly. 

Swallowing, James lets her finger dip under Jason's waistband, stroking across the slight hair, right near the top of her bush. That gets a pleased little hum, Jason pushing her hips up further.

“I like my body when it is with your body,” James whispers, voice weak, feeling as if she’s gonna fall off the face of the Earth at the way Jason arches at her touch, the way she pushes herself further into James’ hand, the slight-soft brush over old scrapes and bruises across her hips and stomach. 

It’s reverent, made holy, hot and slow, Jason arching, a modern Saint Sebastian slumped across the carpet, bare even in her jeans and too-small shirt, the flutter of her body mellow and malleable.

James pauses, before dipping her fingers lower, stroking over Jason’s cunt through her underwear.

A punched-out sound escapes Jason’s throat. “Fuck,” Jason groans, “Is that that poet you were just reading?”

“Yeah,” James murmurs, finger swirling gentle shapes across the fabric.

Jason shivers, a little, as James lets her nail scrape back up, along the curve of her stomach. “Keep going,” she gasps, hips bucking at James’ touch.

“It is so quite new a thing, muscles better and nerves more,” James continues, voice soft, “I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smoothness and which I will again and again and again-” she murmurs, tracing the letters across Jason’s waist, “ _kiss_.”

Jason moans. James pushes her hand lower, fingers gliding across the wet patch on her underwear, Jason’s hips pushing up at the soft touch. “You horny?” James asks, laughing as Jason nods, grinning.

“Want you to fuck me,” she murmurs, grabbing for James’ face, dragging her in for a kiss.

They hardly make it to the bed.

James bends Jason over the edge, kissing her neck all sloppy and breathy, fucking her hard with the strap as Jason whines and gasps. 

She's so wet, dripping as James fucks into her. James says as much, her voice wobbly and her eyes fluttering shut. Jason moans as James grips her hips hard, fingers digging into pale skin, nails leaving half-crescents, red and puffy.

“Ahh- fuck-”

James lets her right hand smooth across Jason’s stomach, across soft hair, before sliding along the crease of her thigh, palm snug against the side of her cunt.

There's the slow slide of a droplet of sweat down Jason's back, glimmering in the light. James wants to trace its path with her tongue. There’s the pull of old scars, scabbed-over pink flesh pulling tight as Jason shifts under her, fluttering as she pants. 

She's fucked up over the weed and the feeling of Jason under her, _around_ her, pleasure cresting like a wave in her gut, slow and warm, moments before the plunge.

Jason shivers, shoulders tight as she grabs at the covers, gasping as James works her fingers slick and slow over the swollen nub of her clit. James lets her fingers play in the wet folds of Jason’s cunt, stretched around the silicon dick, thumb and forefinger pinching right around her clit.

“ _Ahhh_!-”

Moaning, Jason comes with a shaky exhale, hips bucking, and then James follows her over with a groan, grinding down against the strap.

“Fuck, _shit_ -” Jason gasps, and James feels the same.

Jason has finger-shaped bruises across her hips for a week: James feels herself burn from the inside-out whenever they peek out from beneath the waistband of Jason’s shorts.

───

The throes of summer descend upon them, hot and muggy.

It’s a summer of reddened, freckled skin, hands sticky from the strawberry-sweet sugar of melted popsicles, the two of them sitting on the curb outside the Circle K as the sun goes down, James savouring the way the sunlight’s glow dances across Jason’s cheeks. 

Jason takes a final bite of her popsicle, twirling the stick between her fingers. 

“Fuck, it’s so hot,” Jason groans, and James just nods, trying to focus on making sure her popsicle doesn’t melt right off the stick and fall onto the concrete.

She fails.

Jason giggles, laughing when James shoves her shoulder. “Alright, I’ll buy you another one.” Jason clambers to her feet, popping her back before grabbing her wallet. “One sec,” she grins, before heading back into the convenience store.

James leans back on her elbows, knocking her scuffed-up sneakers against the dirty asphalt.

There’s another ding as Jason opens the door, planting herself right by James’ side. She’s got a plastic bag in one hand. The smiley face across it stares up at James: _Come again! Come again!_

“Got you a rocket,” Jason grins, pulling it out of the bag and pressing it into James’ hand. James murmurs a quiet _thanks_ , stripping off the plastic packaging and pressing a gentle kiss to Jason’s shoulder.

Jason leans into her, biting into a drumstick, watching the occasional drift of traffic, seagulls crying along the boardwalk and cars honking in the distance.

Later, once they’re done, James picks her bicycle up off the ground. Jason squeezes onto the handlebars, James pedalling, the breeze kissing along their faces as they glide down empty roads.

───

She takes Jason out into the desert, shitty pickup truck flying along the dark highway, windows down as _Galapogos_ plays, soft on the radio.

They sit on the hood, parked on the dirt shoulder of the road, staring up at the constellations, James tracing them with her finger as Jason rests her head on her shoulder, tucked up in James’ coat. 

Jason's eyes haze over, her hand pulling James in, whispering, “You know what'd be fun?”

James trails her lips over Jason's jaw. “What?” she murmurs, watching the way Jason's tongue slides over her lips.

“Fucking in your car.”

Jason eats her out in the backseats, windows fogged up as James gasps, writhing into Jason's touch, the sweet slide of skin as she shudders on a moan. It's gorgeous, Jason below her flushed and hot, eyelids heavy, tongue smoothing across her folds, sucking hard on her clit, James moaning at the feeling.

Jason's hand works between her own legs, circling quick and filthy, hips grinding down as she laps over James’ cunt, tongue flicking across the hood of skin over her clit.

James feels that ball of heat in her gut twist, that coil of pleasure wrung tight, a white-hot burn through her veins.

She moans as Jason works a finger against her clit, stroking gently, and she comes with a gasp, panting as her hips jerk into Jason's mouth. Jason groans as she comes, eyes fluttering shut.

James feels her heart thud against her ribs, a slowed-down supernova, a cosmic explosion through her veins. She only has eyes for the way Jason gasps, face covered in slick cum and spit. 

_Fuck_ , it's like heaven and hell, like divine torture.

James pulls Jason up for a kiss, slick and heavy, hand stroking slow over her hip.

She feels herself fall.

───

James’ skates go out from under her and she hits the ground hard, elbow guards cracking sharp against the concrete.

The crowd roars.

James huffs, tries to get her arms under herself, cursing when her elbow gives out and she collapses back onto the rink. 

The other team’s jammer is still fighting against the rest of the defence, but she needs to get up, needs to make sure they keep their lead. They can’t let this one slip through their fingers, else they’re out of the tournament

She swallows, fighting against the hurt, frustration bubbling up.

Her teammates to the side scream, hands cupped around their mouths as they yell, “Get up! Get up!”, and then there’s Jason, pressed against the boards, yelling “Go! Go!”

James pants, arms burning, sweat sticking her shirt to her back.

The rest of the blue team’s there, Dave and Kirk shouting, cheering for her. Jason leans over the wall- “ _Baby, go!!_ ”- and it’s like electricity in her veins. 

Fuck this- she’s up on her feet, skates a blur, clawing forwards to Cliff, and then Cliff grabs her and whips her-

And she’s gone.

───

Jason’s in the bathroom, cleaning up.

James slumps back against the covers, letting her brain catch up, wiping the sweat off her forehead. Honestly, she’s amazed: she can fuck Jason’s _brains_ out and she’ll still be ready to go again minutes later, grinding down against James’ thigh, begging for more.

She’s fucking blessed as _hell_.

James makes a mental note to buy some more lube the next time they're at the corner store. _Actually, maybe a new vibrator would be sweet too. Or a dildo for the strap. Fuck it, maybe both._

Jason closes the bathroom door with a click, wandering over to James’ dresser. James’ eyes are drawn to her tits, small and soft, before catching on her ass, swallowing upon seeing the hickeys pressed dark-red against old bruises, a kaleidoscope across her skin. It’s hot as fuck.

“I’m gonna borrow your briefs, I put mine in the wash,” Jason murmurs, pulling the drawer open. James just hums in agreement, watching as Jason bends over to slip into a fresh black pair, tight around her thighs. She opens another drawer, stealing one of James’ t shirts, an old one that shrunk in the wash.

When she turns, James can see how her nipples poke through the washed-out fabric. 

Jason collapses into bed beside her, and James lets her fingers come up to tweak a nipple, grinning at the way Jason squirms. 

“Hey,” James murmurs, pushing her hand under Jason’s shirt, flicking across the perky little bud, “You should ditch the bra more. It’s hot.”

Jason laughs, “What, you like staring at my tits?”

“Duh,” James says, pinching hard.

Jason gasps, “ _Ah-_ I’ll consider it.”

In the morning, Jason slides into a tank top and one of James’ jean jackets, without a bra, and James is hopelessly distracted all day.

───

James is sure of it: she’s absolutely, without a doubt, fucked up.

Her team isn’t playing tonight, but Jason’s is, and they’re warming up at the lines, stretching out and joking, a mix of blue and green jerseys.

Lars and Cliff are beside her in the stands, right near the boards of the rink. There’s a case of Budweiser at their feet, slightly cool still, bottles sweating in their hands as they pop the tops off with Lars’ keys. James takes a long swig, watching as Jason gets lined up, the white star on her helmet like a beacon.

Jason looks over at her where she’s sitting in the stands and mouths _For you._

James blushes, a little. Cliff laughs, “Fuckin’ hot.”

Rolling her eyes, James bumps Cliff with her elbow. “Shut up, dude,” she snorts.

Lars leans in. “What, are we talking about James’ crush?” She snickers, flicking ash from her cigarette onto the stands, “Fuck, Cliff, I’m pretty sure there’s a hole in the drywall behind James’ headboard.”

Cliff laughs as James gets Lars in a headlock, giving her a vicious noogie as her cheeks _burn_.

“Alright, alright!” Lars shrieks, wiggling free, “Jesus, let’s just watch your girlfriend, alright?”

 _Girlfriend_. Fuck.

The whistle blows, once, everyone getting into position. It blows again, and Jason takes off like a bullet, the three of them cheering as she throws herself into the scuffle.

It’s a _vicious_ match, blood all over the rink and cracked mouth guards and huge purple bruises. A fist fight breaks out halfway through, Dave and some other green team member throwing punches, dragging each other to the ground, knuckles covered in blood. They get pulled apart by the refs, Dave spitting on the ground by the other player’s skates.

“You fucking _shitstain_ ,” Dave shouts, “Quit trying to fuckin’ kill our jammers and skate, asshole!” 

James swallows. Usually things don’t come to blows, but the green team has been fucking _relentless._ It’s almost like they’re more focused on fucking up their opponents than actually winning.

Down in the pits, James can see Kirk pass the star to Jason, rubbing at a newly-formed black eye pitifully. Jason slaps it back on, lining up, and James crosses her fingers. It’s the last round of the night, the score tied 15-15. _Let them win let them win let them win..._

The whistle blows.

James watches as Jason swerves, dodging green team members, her body all lithe and swift as she skates across the rink. She skids towards Dave, swerving through the crush of bodies, hand outstretched.

“Fuckin’ whip her!” James shouts, her cheers joining the crowd as Dave grips Jason’s arms and sends her flying down the rink, skates a blur, charging forwards, until the green team’s defenders check her and send her flying. 

Jason crashes onto the concrete rink, nearly trampled in the fray, and James feels her heart _lurch_.

The crowd roars, and James yells alongside them. _C’mon, get up._

It’s almost impossible to see her for a moment, until Jason claws herself free and clambers onto her feet, taking off down the track, and the crowd screams as she flies over the line, just before the green team’s jammer makes it over.

“ _Yes_! Fuck yeah!” James yells, laughing as Lars and Cliff cheer beside her, whistling, their beers spilling over the stands. James watches as Jason makes her way over to her team, wrapped in a huge bearhug, all of them laughing and cheering.

James looks closer: Jason’s got a huge cut along her cheek, blood sliding down her face, and James feels herself turn red.

 _Fuck_.

She tosses a wave to Cliff and Lars, worming her way down the stands to where Jason’s team is congregated by the rink. Kirk’s there, laughing with Dave, the two of them battered and bruised but elated. Kirk turns, noticing her, and waves her over with a smile.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Kirk asks, unlacing her skates. Dave tosses her a nod.

James nods back. “Sweet game, dude.”

Kirk grins, her fucked-up teeth on full display. “Thanks. Looking for Jason?”

 _Jesus_ , does everyone know about them?

James just nods, trying and failing to keep the embarrassment off her face. Kirk giggles, Dave jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “She’s in the bathroom,” Dave says, pulling her jersey over her head, “Gettin’ the blood off.”

Kirk pushes a pack of butterfly bandaids and a couple alcohol wipes into her hands with a quiet _just in case,_ and James thanks them before heading around the rink towards the red bathroom doors.

And like, the bathrooms are _nasty_. But the water still runs, which is usually all they need, anyways. 

Jason’s at the sink, cupping the water to wipe the blood off her face, head tilted in the mirror. She spots James in the reflection and grins, pointing at her face, “Gross, right?”

James drops the bandaids.

There’s the slick, slow drip of blood, thick and viscous from the cut across Jason’s cheek, sliding down her chin and dripping onto the porcelain in little splatters. There’s the slight well of droplets around the wound, sparkling in the fluorescent bathroom lights. 

Jason splashes her face again, water pink as it falls through her fingers.

_Jesus._

“Man, what a fucking asshole, right? Jesus, she’s just lucky-” Jason starts, before she’s cut off as James presses her up against the floor-length mirror, hands around her waist.

“God, fuck, _Jason_ ,” James gasps, lips trailing across Jason’s chin, blood heavy on her tongue. Jason moans, pulling James close, bloody hands staining her Foo Fighters tee shirt. James doesn’t even give a fuck, not when Jason’s inches from her, eyelashes fluttering as she gasps at the feeling of James’ fingers smoothing over her bruised thighs, droplets of water webbing the thin strands together.

Jason gasps, “Shit, _fuck_ , you hot from seeing me bleed?” She whispers, hand stroking over the front of James’ jeans, punching a desperate noise out of James’ throat.

James' tongue smooths over Jason’s cheek, “God, baby, you're hot as hell.” Jason moans, grabbing James’ shoulder tight, and then James remembers where they are: grody bathroom, covered in blood, in a decrepit skating rink. Right.

She pulls back. “Fuck, baby, here, let’s get that cleaned up. Then I’ll take you home. Not sure about you, but I don't really wanna fuck in a bathroom,” James murmurs, savouring the way Jason goes pink. 

Washing away the blood, James carefully swipes over the cut with a slightly-dried-up alcohol wipe, murmuring a quiet _sorry_ when Jason flinches at the sting. Then she presses the bandaids on over the cut, taping it shut.

Jason’s watching her, eyes heavy with want. James takes her home.

───

“Fuck, _fuuuck,”_ Jason moans, shivering as James slides a thumb over her clit. James watches as her cunt clenches down, all slick and hot as James trails her fingers through her folds.

Jason’s sprawled across her bed, legs in the air, groaning as she squirms under James’ hands. They’d already fucked around in the shower, Jason pressed against the tiles, but James is still so fucking _horny._

Her sex drive has been, like, off the walls lately. Perks of having a hot girlfriend.

James chokes back a moan when Jason thrusts her hips down. “C’mon,” she whines, “Fuck- _fuck_ me.” And James feels herself dissolve.

“Okay, baby, fuck,” James gasps, spreading Jason open gently, savouring the way her head falls back against the pillows, muffling her whines into the fabric.

Jason groans. “ _A_ _h-_ I- _fuck_ , I don't need more,” she gasps, voice ragged, “Fuck, I already fucked myself with my vibrator last night- _fuck._ ” 

_God? Are you there?_ James feels her soul leave her body.

“James, _ah_ -” Jason groans, shifting her hips up into James’ touch. “I- _hah_ \- I’m ready-”

“Fuck, baby-” James groans, fingers sliding fast and hard. Jason moans, drooling into the pillows. “Shit, you're such a _slut._ ”

That gets a whimper, Jason’s voice breaking on a sob when James’ thumb presses over her clit, stroking hard across the sensitive little bud.

Jason’s voice shudders as James stretches her out. “I- I thought of _you_ , the whole time-” she gasps, hips bucking, “I thought of you, and how hot you are- _ah_!- inside me-”

_Holy fuck._

James chokes back a groan. “Shit, baby, you have no idea how hot that is,” she whispers, fingers sliding as she kisses the inside of Jason’s thigh. “God, I wanna fuck you until you _cry_ ,” James groans, slipping her pinky in, Jason gasping at the stretch. James strokes her hip gently with the other hand, working her fingers in Jason's cunt, all wet and tight.

And then she presses her fingers hard into a bruise low on Jason's hip, right near the curve of her ass.

It's huge, all sickly green and blue, a big ring of reddened, scraped skin surrounding it, a kiss from the concrete rink when Jason had been knocked to the ground.

“ _Fuck- fuck- ah_!” Jason tightens around her fingers, hot and slick, her hips jerking and her body stiffening, moaning against the pillows. 

James freezes. Jason gasps, breath ragged, chest heaving. She’s flushed, from her cheeks down her neck to her tits, quivering as James pulls her fingers free.

“Baby,” James whispers, voice reverent, “Did you just cum?” Jason whines, legs slumping further open. James watches, overwhelmed, at the slow, slick drip of cum from Jason's cunt.

Sweet mary mother of god. _Holy fuck,_ James thinks, _I've got a girlfriend who just got off to me pressing on her bruise._

Jason sighs, "Fuck me-", voice raspy, rolling her hips, and James is weak.

James groans, gently grabbing Jason's thighs and spreading her open, pressing herself into the sheets in the vee of her legs. Jason's face is just visible, cheeks all flushed, her lip bleeding, sharp teeth marks set in the soft skin.

“Ah- ah, _please!_ ” Jason sobs, hips jerking from overstimulation as James circles a gentle finger around her swollen clit.

James kisses the inside of her thigh, all gentle. “Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last with the strap,” she groans, hands gripping Jason's thighs tight, punching a whine out of Jason's throat, before she moans, watery, as James lets her tongue slide over Jason's cunt, slow and firm.

Jason writhes, needy and hot, as James laps across her folds, tongue playing around her clit, flickering across the little nub. She leans in, wraps her lips around the swollen bud, and sucks hard.

The reaction’s instantaneous: Jason _sobs,_ hips thrusting up, thighs shaking where they're wrapped around James’ head, her face going bright red on a moan when James looks up, spit and cum dripping down her chin. She slides her fingers along Jason's folds before slipping them back into her, curling and rubbing as she licks and sucks, all sloppy and wet.

“ _James-_ James, _fuck, fuck_ , feels so good-” Jason whines, tensing up when James trails her teeth gently over her clit, clenching down around James’ fingers.

James lets her other hand slide down, groaning at the throb of her cunt as she slides her fingers up against her clit. She's so fucking wet and horny and James knows she's gonna come in like, five seconds flat, and it doesn’t take much to grind her hips down against her hand as she eats Jason out.

Fuck.

She’s stupidly love-drunk, hips staggering against the friction of her fingers, Jason whining high in her throat when James curls her fingers up hard, hips bucking as she tightens up, shuddering through her orgasm, all hot and slick.

James moans, hand a blur between her legs, shivering as she comes, biting down on Jason's thigh to muffle her cries, everything fuzzy. 

When she comes to, her face is pressed into the soft flesh of Jason's leg. Jason's breathless against the sheets, her cunt twitching through the last aftershocks.

_God._

───

James wakes up to quiet warmth.

She's pulled Jason close in the middle of the night, tucked up along her back, fingers smoothed gently over Jason’s stomach. Jason breathes slowly, face smushed into the pillows. 

James smoothes her lips across the jut of bone of her spine.

Jason's still asleep, crumpled up under the covers, dead to the world. James kisses her gently, right over the little butterfly bandaids on her cheek.

She stumbles into the bathroom once she's slid out of bed, rinsing her face, wincing at the fading bruise around her eye, sickly green and yellow.

 _God,_ she's still tired.

James makes a beeline straight for the kitchen, sluggishly dumping coffee grounds into the machine and pouring water in, fiddling with the little buttons.

Lars is at the counter, listening to the radio quietly as she cooks herself breakfast, eggs frying in the pan. “Morning,” she murmurs, and James tosses her a grunt of recognition back.

There's the quiet burble of the coffee pot, the hiss of grease, radio anchors talking quietly, birds chirping. 

“You guys are loud as fuck.”

James nearly chokes on her tongue. “What?” she squeaks, turning to face Lars who's busy flipping her eggs over. 

Lars waves the spatula offhandedly. “I said,” she murmurs, “You guys are fucking loud. Seriously. Like, I get you've got a hot girlfriend, but goddamn, everyone on our floor can hear you fucking her seven ways to Sunday.”

James wishes she could be struck by lightning.

“I- what?” she chokes out, nearly dropping the bottle of creamer in her embarrassment. 

Lars rolls her eyes. “Just, like, cool it, man. You kept me awake all last night,” she laughs. 

James doesn't respond, just stares at the coffee percolating as an acute wave of mortification washes over her. _Fuck,_ okay, so maybe they were a little loud, and maybe fucking at two in the morning isn't, like, ideal. 

She can feel her ears burning from embarrassment.

James quickly makes herself and Jason a cup, disappearing back into the bedroom and closing the door to snickering from Lars.

Jason's rolled over in the time she's gone.

“Where'd you go?” Jason murmurs, voice hoarse. James sets their mugs on the nightstand and slips back into bed with Jason, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

“Made you coffee,” James whispers, hand smoothing over Jason's bare back, over the dips in her spine down to the curve of her ass.

Jason presses her face into James’ neck. “Mmm,” she murmurs, “Thanks. That was sweet. Let's fuck,” she grins, and James grabs her ass tight, kissing her as she laughs, grinning against each other's lips.

Fuck the coffee.

───

“Mmm, you want takeout?” Jason murmurs, face pressed right into James’ tits where she's slumped across the couch.

James hums. “Winner’s pick?”

That gets a huff. “You got second. Out of two teams,” Jason snarks.

“Hey, that's still better than you!” James laughs, rubbing a hand down Jason's back, sliding it up under the sweater she's wearing: James’ old Berkeley pullover, just this side of too big on her.

Jason laughs. “All right, fine, I guess it counts,” she teases, “What do you want?”

James stretches out, yawning heavily. “Uh, Chinese?”

“Okay, but I’m not grabbing the phone ‘cause I’m too comfy. You’re the best fucking pillow, like, ever.”

James snorts.

“Lazy fucker,” she grins, laughing as Jason smushes her into the cushions.

───

Venice Beach is quiet, waves crashing in the distance. Far above, stars twinkle in little pin-pricks against the dark night.

Jason's lacing up her roller skates, baby-blue, grinning as James does a few lazy circles. It's been a while since she's used this pair, but it's kinda like sliding into a second skin, after a while. It feels right, feels like home. 

It's nearly one in the morning: they both have work tomorrow, but it's one of the hottest days of summer and the night’s gorgeous and they both have too much energy to know what to do with it.

Jason finishes lacing up her skates, grabbing James’ hand and leading her down the boardwalk.

“You know, I always dreamed of doing this on a date,” Jason smiles, eyes closed as the salty breeze from the beach washes over them.

James squeezes her hand. “Oh yeah?” She murmurs, “Did it ever look like this?” 

Jason brings their interlocked fingers to her lips, kissing gently over James’ knuckles. “Kinda, but the cute girl I’m with makes it a million times better.”

The waves crash across sand, their skates humming as they zip across the sidewalks, eyes only for each other, Jason whispering _I love you_ against her shoulder. James murmurs it back, kisses _love you love you love you_ across her cheeks.

───

James adjusts her helmet, restraps her knee guards. 

The crowd cheers, alcohol and sweat and weed heavy in the air.

A droplet of sweat slides down her nose, drips onto the concrete rink.

Jason's beside her, grinding her toe stop into the ground.

They lock eyes.

There's the roar of the crowd.

The whistle blows once, twice.

And they're gone.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @[pinkmaggitmp3](https://pinkmaggitmp3.tumblr.com)
> 
> <3


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